


One Austin Night

by HimereCalliope



Category: Good Omens (TV) RPF
Genre: First Time, Hotel Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HimereCalliope/pseuds/HimereCalliope
Summary: “You know,” Michael says, “this is starting to feel a lot like a dream I had once…”
Relationships: Michael Sheen/David Tennant
Comments: 18
Kudos: 134
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	One Austin Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parcequelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/gifts).



> There is no mention of real life partners or families in this; feel free to apply your own favorite headcanon.

It’s late by the time Michael arrives in Austin, thanks to a delayed flight and the endless stop-and-go traffic of overfull motorways, and evening is rapidly transitioning into night by the time he finally checks into the hotel. Local time, anyway. For his personal internal clock it’s the early hours of the next day already – or it would be if it hadn’t been shaken and twisted around by the fact that he slept on the plane and then landed in late evening sunlight. It makes for a surreal and slightly detached feeling every time. 

He should go through some quiet evening routines, let his body know what time it’s expected to think it is, and then go to bed in an orderly fashion. Prepare for the first day of the festival tomorrow, the photo sessions and interviews and general press work they will have to do. Instead, he texts David. 

His phone buzzes with a reply just as he’s swiping his key card at his door, and he pauses just long enough to dump his bags and free up his hands before inviting David over. The closer the premiere gets, the more awareness is creeping in that this, their drawn-out period of intermittently being sent places to promote the show together, is coming to an end. Time together is starting to feel less like something to take for granted. Certainly to Michael, at least. He’s never _entirely_ sure David isn’t just being his excessively nice self, but given that, as jetlagged and exhausted as he must be, David is still awake, still replying to messages, well. He suspects he’s not entirely alone in that feeling, at least. 

Michael has just enough time to hang up his coat and take off his shoes before there’s a knock on the door, and he goes over to open it. It’s David, looking like Michael’s favorite sight for sore eyes. He’s shaved his beard again, though judging by the state of his stubble, he might be in the process of regrowing it. He’s got glasses on, and is wearing jeans and an orange sweater that turns out to be very soft when Michael pulls him into a hug. 

“How was your flight?” David asks, all perfect manners, once they’ve pulled apart and shut the door behind them. 

“Long,” Michael sighs, running a hand over his face. “And late. Yours?” 

David shrugs, which is his way of saying he doesn’t feel entitled to complain. He does look rather worn out, though. Better not to press him on that for now. 

“Looking forward to this?” Michael asks instead.

“A bit, yeah.” David smiles. “It’s nice to get to do this sort of thing, isn’t it? To go to a big convention or festival and just look around and take in the incredible enthusiasm so many people have for the thing you helped make?” 

Michael sighs, feeling helpless fondness surge through him, and has to laugh. “ Can I bottle you? Keep you in a little glass jar and just carry you with me for when I need a bit of optimism?”

“I don’t know that I’d say I’m optimistic?” David raises his eyebrows just a touch. “I’m generally really not, to be honest. I just… try to consciously enjoy the good things that we do get, you know?” 

Michael does know, and it does nothing to diminish the warmth and yearning in his chest. “Yeah,” he says, and rubs his eyes. “Don’t listen to me, I’m just tired.”

They’re still standing by the door, he realizes. He steps back, gestures for David to properly come in. It’s a nice, spacious room they’ve given him, with a small couch and couch table as well as an armchair and a desk. “Make yourself at home.” 

David eyes the couch hopefully. “Mind if I stretch out a bit?” He rotates his shoulders and looks slightly apologetic. “The flight wasn’t particularly kind to my back.” 

“The sofa won’t be, either,” Michael says, eying David’s 6’1’’ frame. “Take the bed.”

And either David is really very worn out, or they’re finally reaching the point where the standard rules of etiquette stop mattering quite so much, because he drops down onto the bed with a sigh of thanks. Within seconds, he’s kicked off his shoes and sprawled out on his back, stretching, and does look a lot more comfortable. Though it’s always possible that’s just Michael projecting.

Well, if David’s getting comfortable, he might as well, too. “Give me one minute,” he says. “I just want to quickly brush my teeth. I slept on the plane,” he adds, by way of explanation, and David nods, probably very familiar with that feeling himself. 

The bathroom is pleasantly bright, the towels fluffy, and the cool water feels so refreshing that Michael takes an extra minute to wash his face as well. 

When he comes back out, David is asleep. Properly asleep, deep breathing and everything. 

Probably the correct thing to do would be to wake him, laugh at him until he stops apologizing, and send him back to his own bed. The thing is, though, that Michael finds he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see an embarrassed David shuffle back to his room, but also, just plain doesn’t want to wake him. He looks like he needs every minute of sleep he can get, and between their schedule and the timezone difference, Michael figures that’s probably very true. And after all, the bed is easily wide enough for three people, even. All of which is a long way of saying that the thought of waking him makes Michael’s heart ache a little bit, so he quite simply doesn’t. 

Instead he digs his pyjamas out of his suitcase, turns out the room’s main light, and goes into the bathroom to change. He takes a bit longer than necessary, but when he steps back out, David is still soundly asleep, the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest outlined against the pale sheets as Michael’s eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. He looks… well, best not to dwell on it. 

David’s lying on top of the duvet, but he doesn’t wake when Michael gently tugs it out from underneath him, which surely is a sign in favor of Michael’s plan. Nor does he wake when Michael slides his glasses of and sets them carefully on the nightstand, or when he climbs into the other side of the bed and pulls the duvet over both of them. 

Between the unfamiliar soundscape and the perpetual ambient light, falling asleep in a hotel bed is never the easiest thing, particularly the first night. But jetlag does have its advantages occasionally, Michael thinks, feeling himself drifting off after just a few minutes. 

* * *

It’s still dark when he drifts awake again, clearly the wee hours of the morning, local time. The world has that quiet slanted-away-from-reality feeling to it, which is probably why it takes him a second to realize that something else does, too. He’s lying on his back on a pleasantly soft mattress, warm and comfortable, which is always nice and tends to speak to the quality of the hotel, but he also has a warm and comfortable shape half wrapped around him, which, while not something he feels inclined to complain about, is not entirely expected. ‘Clingy sleeper’ would not have been what he’d have pegged David as, but as far as surprises go, this one certainly isn’t unpleasant. It’s always nice being held, and the slow and steady rise and fall of David’s chest is quite hypnotic. 

He’s just hovering on the verge of drifting off again when that changes, and David slowly comes awake, snuffling against Michael’s shoulder. Michael can almost feel his disorientation as he shifts one limb and then another, a piecemeal surfacing into consciousness. 

“Hi,” David croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. It sounds a little cautious, and at least half like a question. 

“Texas,” Michael supplies, because that’s the first question he himself wakes up to far too often on a press tour.

“Right,” David mumbles, and breathes deeply. “Yeah.” He’s still holding back a certain tension in his body, another question he’s perhaps too polite to ask. 

“You fell asleep while I was brushing my teeth.” He trusts David will notice that he’s the one wrapped around – a very non-protesting – Michael, and therefore the one in a position to decide of that should change. 

“Mh,” David sighs just a touch guiltily, probably taking note of exactly that. “You could have woken me up.” 

“I could have,” Michael agrees, and makes absolutely no move to change anything. 

He can feel the way that slowly decodes in David’s mind by the way the tension seeps out of his limbs bit by bit until he’s soft and pliant and Michael thinks they might really just go back to sleep. He tugs the duvet up a bit higher around them and drapes his free arm loosely around David’s waist, ready to snuggle in that little extra bit and close his eyes for another hour or two.

But David makes a soft noise like an apologetic request, shifting a bit, and Michael lifts his arm again immediately. 

“Not you,” David mumbles softly, and huffs a sigh. “Just… jeans. They’re not the most comfortable thing to sleep in.”

There’s really only one reply to that, and surely David knows it. “Feel free to take off any clothes you like,” Michael laughs, a bit more relieved than he would like to admit. He hopes David can’t tell. 

“I might just take you up on that,” David warns. 

“Oh,” Michael grins, and runs a hand down David’s back, over the soft fuzz of his sweater, “please do.” 

And David does. Pushes himself up with a tired groan, pulls off the sweater and wriggles his way out of his jeans. Possibly throws them over the side of the bed – Michael’s not really paying attention anymore at that point, because suddenly there is a lot more bare skin and body heat, and Michael realizes he might not have entirely thought this through.

David, meanwhile, maneuvers himself back under the duvet and right back into his previous position and settles in. It’s invitation enough, Michael figures, and wraps an arm around David in turn, properly this time. Experimentally, he runs his other hand up David’s back, over the soft, thin cotton of his t-shirt that seems to do nothing to shield the warmth of his skin, and gets a contented hum in response. 

“So you’re a bit of a cuddly sleeper, hm?” he asks, his smile edging towards a grin. 

“Mhm,” David sighs noncommittally from where he is busy nuzzling into Michael’s shoulder. “You smell nice.” 

Michael has to laugh at that. “I’m fairly sure I smell like airplane travel and twenty-four hours without a shower.” 

In place of a reply, David wriggles still closer and draws a long, considering breath that sends cool air ghosting across the crook of Michael’s neck and makes him shiver. 

“Nice,” is David’s verdict, before doing it again. 

“You know,” Michael says, “this is starting to feel a lot like a dream I had once…”

“Mm,” David hums and draws another tingling breath. “Was I in it?” 

“Oh yeah,” Michael says, skimming a hand down David’s back and lingering on the patch of bare skin where David’s t-shirt has ridden up. “Starring role.” 

David hums again, pleased. “Was I any good?” he asks, with a delicious rasp of stubble against sensitive skin.

“I thought so.” Michael tilts his head, offering up more neck, and gets just the faintest brush of lips for his effort. “Very memorable performance,” he adds, just the faintest bit breathless. 

David chuckles and shifts, wriggling a little until his head is nearer Michael’s chest and he can slip one leg not-quite-casually between Michael’s. “Memorable, hm?” 

Michael runs one hand up David’s side, lets the other tangle lightly in his hair, smiles. “Now you’re just fishing to get your ego stroked.” 

“Not the main thing I’d like stroked,” David mutters into his chest, like an honest-to-goodness aside, and Michael absolutely can’t help bursting into laughter. 

Still shaking with it, he tugs David gently up, half by his hair, and pulls him in for a kiss. 

David proves himself very willing, and by the time they break apart, they’re both breathing heavily. 

Michael lies back against the mattress and takes a moment to take in the sight of David. In the dim light, he looks a bit sleep-rumpled, more disheveled than debauched, and charmingly, wonderfully real. He smiles at Michael, happy and breathless and a little out of his element, and Michael thinks he’s found another thing he’d like to bottle. 

David leans back down, meets his mouth again, but only lightly this time, and then moves to trail slow kisses under Michael’s jaw and along his throat. Michael threads his fingers back into David’s hair, ruffles it gently, then less gently as David makes an involuntary pleased and needy sound. 

“You like that?” Michael asks, a grin spreading across his face. 

“No,” David grumbles sarcastically, “I’m faking it for the camera.”

“Well, in that case…” Michael says, and makes as if to pull his hand away. But he doesn’t. Instead, he tightens his grip until it’s just that side of painful, and gets to enjoy the way it makes David suck in his breath. 

David’s kisses grow more open-mouthed panting, and when he reaches Michael’s clavicle, he mouths at it in a very distracting way while fumbling between them with the buttons of Michael’s pyjama top. Michael decides to do them both a favor, and eases his grip to let David focus. It does the trick, and soon enough David is pulling the shirt open and out of the way, kissing newly exposed skin. 

Michael’s hands, meanwhile, keep encountering far too much fabric. “C’mon”He taps David’s shoulder, then tugs on his t-shirt meaningfully.“Show us some skin.” He waggles his eyebrows in an overdrawn leer that he manages to hold exactly as long as it takes to make David laugh. 

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely…” David grins, sits up, and pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere out of sight. “How’s that?” 

“Gorgeous,” Michael says, and means it. He wishes he had a bit more light, could take a really good, long look, but has no intention of stopping to make that happen. 

David looks for a second like he wants to scoff, or make a joke, but instead he gets up on his knees and in a series of fluid movements that Michael would be jealous of if he weren’t so thoroughly distracted, gets rid of his boxers as well. 

“How about now?” 

“God, David,” Michael gapes, and laughs. “If I’d know you were this easy…!” 

“Yeah?” David prompts, quirking a curious eyebrow. Holding still and waiting for an answer. 

“I’d still have done nothing about it,” Michael admits, sighing in defeat. 

That makes David laugh softly, and he leans back down to kiss Michael. “Would you have wanted to?”

“Would I have–?” Michael asks, in disbelief. “David, I spent about six months trying _very_ hard to at least keep my ogling you in the realm of charming rather than outright creepy! And,” he adds a second later, catching on, “I think you know that very well.” 

“Mm,” David smiles, kisses him again, and lowers himself down, slotting their bodies together. “Tell me anyway?” 

“Ah, Jesus, _David_ ,” Michael gasps, thrusting up against him because he can’t stop himself. Apparently David is done taking it slow. He’s every bit as hard and hot and ready as Michael is, and if Michael weren’t still wearing his pyjama trousers he might be lost on the spot. “You don’t ask for much, do you?” 

“Too much?” David asks, immediately concerned, ready to back off. 

Michael shakes his head. “But help me get these off first,” he says, shoving at his trousers. 

David does, lifts himself up for a moment, works his magic, and before Michael knows it, his trousers are around his ankles and then gone, and all that’s left is David’s skin on his. It possibly short-circuits his brain for a minute or two in which there is a lot of touching and thrusting and gasping, and not a lot of talking. 

But he’s nothing if not a perfectionist about performance, and so he gathers what’s left of his wits and tries to do this. 

“Remember in South Africa,” he says, going for the first memory that comes to him, “when we were all dying of heat and had to conserve water? Every time someone mentioned taking a proper, long shower, or a bath, or going for a swim, you made a face that was… a lot like right now, actually,” he grins, panting. “Very distracting sometimes, you know.”

“Only to you, I’m sure,” David pants, half punctuating thrusts. 

“Oh, definitely not only to me. But,” he tries to catch his breath, fails, “Fuck, David,” he taps his hips, “Up, get up.” 

“What?” David gasps out, in frankly understandable disbelief. 

“Up,” Michael grits out, “Off me. If you want me to be able to talk.” 

David swallows what must be several curses and nods shakily, pushes himself up on his knees and elbows, and does a better job than Michael of not whining at the loss of contact. 

“Here,” Michael says, “Come here,” and he wraps one hand around David’s cock and tangles the other one in his hair. 

The sound David makes at that is half moan, half whimper, and if they want to get any more talking in at all they need to get the show started _now_. 

“The first night back,” he says, tugging David’s hair with one hand and setting a steady rhythm with his other, “I took the longest shower I can remember. So did you, I’m sure, but I,” he speeds up the hand on David’s cock, “spent nearly all of it thinking about you. God, David…” His own hips buck upward, and he has to take a second to get himself back under control. “You in your own shower, making that face while the water ran down your body.” David is moaning steadily now, low and desperate. Michael has a fairly good idea what that means, and keeps going, steady and strong. “You in my shower, helping me enjoy it. Or letting me help you enjoy it.” 

“Close,” David pants out between erratic thrusts and Michael’s steady hand, “I’m–“ 

“You,” Michael says, “in the shower, touching yourself, getting yourself off and letting me-” he tightens the fist in David’s hair, tugs hard, “ _making_ me watch. Like I know you want to.” 

It’s enough, it’s more than enough, and with a cry, David comes, trembling and jerking, in long spurts over Michael’s chest. 

The sight alone nearly drives Michael crazy, and it’s all he can do to lock his body into place, get David gently through the aftershocks, hold out just a few more seconds. It might be the longest half-minute of Michael’s life, but that’s all it is before David’s shifting, reaching, wrapping a hand around Michael and stroking him hard maybe a handful of times before Michael’s world stutters and he bites down a shout and comes so hard he nearly blacks out, and knows he’ll feel it in his muscles for hours yet. The world pauses, holds, and then David collapses down next to him, and everything is a bit fuzzy for a few minutes while they both try to recover their breath. 

Then they lie there a bit longer, because anything more seems like too much to ask, for the moment. 

Eventually David must push himself up and head into the bathroom, because the next thing Michael knows, David is there with a warm washcloth, wiping his chest clean and dabbing it dry again. 

“God you’re perfect,” Michael sighs sleepily, and jolts into wakefulness when he realizes that that came out sounding entirely too sincere. And entirely too much like something else, maybe. 

And from the way David is holding quite still, he definitely noticed. 

“Sorry,” Michael says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I get emotional when I’m tired.” 

“Well,” David says, sinking onto the mattress next to him, “as it happens,” he smiles, “I quite like emotional.” 

Michael looks at him and tries not to think too much of anything. 

“How,” David asks carefully, “would you say you feel about _cuddly_?”

“Right now?” Michael says, smile threatening to crack his face in two. “ _Very_ good.” 

The next time they wake ends up looking very much like the last time, and feels nothing like it at all. 


End file.
